


Don't Ever Stop.

by Redacted_Propaganda



Category: Saints Row
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Cyberkinks, Fast Cars, Fast Cyber Car Kinks, Freudian Elements, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:35:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27432907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redacted_Propaganda/pseuds/Redacted_Propaganda
Summary: What happens when you send a Cyber God and ExplosionsMakeMeMoist McBadass on a virtual racetrack to crack through their combined fetishes to stop an alien with a lube canon? [CENSORED]ing. [CENSORED]ing is what happens, Stacey.And they steal the plans for the lube canon, too - and Johnny Gat totally called it.
Relationships: Male Boss (Saints Row)/Matt Miller
Kudos: 6





	Don't Ever Stop.

In all honesty, what it takes to be a man of "the net" is more than just higher reasoning - it's a total obsessive drive for understanding and control. That was not something that the boss of the 3rd Row Saints was any kind of stranger to. But it was something he showed to a rare few people, and something an even rarer few understood themselves.

Take Kinzie, for example: Her high was the feeling of a body in pain beneath her boots. ... It was also being told she was better than you or someone she knew, which wasn't hard to do when you were a technological philistine.

The boss had a few simple niches that brought him a small (large and noticeable) amount of pleasure. The first would be cars. As expected? Yeah. But he wasn't in it for the shiny paint jobs (although those were nice) and the endless tire modifications. No, the man was in it for 1. The leather seats, 2. The hackle-raising feeling made from a near crash encounter with oncoming traffic, and 3. The engine roar that rattled the whole damn vehicle and the whole damn ass sat in the driver's seat. To be a man of "the net" one had to have certain measures of self control - and to lack it in just about everywhere else, which is why the boss got on quite well with Matt Miller.

Matt, however, was a good 70% of the reason the boss and himself got on. Matt recovered from being taken hostage with all the grace of a feral cat, which more or less meant expecting death from every member of the Saints - especially Kinzie, who seemed to languidly tolerate him and vaguely considered him the closest to being her equal. Yet the boss was more straight forward than any other member of the Saints. Matt was not expecting a warm welcome from the man he'd attempted to kill several times, but the boss had him sized up in the course of a conversation or two and offered blatant - and perhaps even prideful - approval towards Matt and counted him among his crew.

Matt had his own fetishes, which largely consisted of watching the simulation bend to his will, taking control of Zin-made technologies, and any rush of god-like power that rose from his accomplishments - which were not small in number.

Watching the algorithm shift whenever the boss hacked his way through the simulation gave him all sorts of fantasies - which gradually led to him creating a more tangible fantasy of NyteBlayde. The boss' annoyance at having been dragged into some lukewarm fan fiction [author's note: ha!] went flying out the window when he was finally introduced to the plot, which he found a taste for, and when he was finally exposed to Matt's obsessive nature - causing a mutual understanding between them, which could be summed up as: Technomancer God made flesh shakes hand with Satan's Bastard Spawn.

It was Matt's increasing desire to go into the simulation, despite repeatedly feigning annoyance whenever being asked, that won him a shotgun seat with the boss for a mission which involved breaking into Zinyak's personal recreational simulation and kicking ass/taking names/blowing shit up/blahblahblah - it was Shaundi's idea.

Once the two had been loaded into the simulation, and Matt was sure he had the capacity to hack Zinyak's "headspace", they navigated the first firewall: a massive (and unoriginal) spiky maze. "Hmm." Matt readied his hands over the keys and soon as the boss felt like indicating he'd had a thought. "Fly in or drive?" Matt asked, noticing the way the other man was eyeing the gaps. "It's a firewall, right?" The boss counter questioned. "... Yeah." Matt paused to consider the presently known rules of the security program and started typing. "So we don't wanna pick anything we can't use again. Just in case." The boss finished, smirking as a pair of hoverboards spawned in. "Five steps ahead of you, as always." Matt quipped and hopped onto the blue one.

The art of typing and literal code surfing was a talent only Matt Miller possessed - or so he told himself. The Saint's leader was just having a good time testing out the limits in maneuvering the dainty little light board under his feet. He was having a great time, actually. Matt's narcissistic prattle was starting to be visually proven across the firewall - and despite all the rush and excitement of outrunning the protocol drones responsible for maintaining Zinyak's firewall, as well as blowing up just about each one they saw once they figured out how, they managed to enter the actual simulation undetected.

Of course Zinyak's perfect vacation from being an evil alien dictator was a classical theatre.

The boss turned to Matt, who had wild eyes and a cocky grin like he'd just rode through a viagra dose instead of the Back to the Future 2 promise they'd gotten in with, and eyed him knowingly as he asked "Think we could get something a little more style appropriate to blend in?" Matt snarked out a short laugh and flourished his fingers across the keys of his wrist-mounted keyboard.

Upon entry to theatre 6, 9:47 pm, Saturday, Zinyak's Blessed Qui'nathi Month, 2017 E/ 3090 Z, the leader of The 3rd Row Saints appeared in the first - and best looking - full tailored, full custom suit.

The Decker-Saint along side him had a borderline flamboyant little Victorian Gothic number on that he had the nerve to make tight enough at the trousers to show off a print in. The boss smirked, knowing this was bringing out the godhood fantasies in his friend, and settled his silk tie as he picked out an ideal set of seats.

After three acts of watching Zinyak play several theatrical roles of a Zinyak written script at once, on a stage maintained and orchestrated by several groups of Zinyaks - and audienced by clusters of Zinyaks, the pair greeted the alien, himself, during the intermission.

"Good evening, gentleman. I see my absent invitation was sadly carted off and delivered." Zinyak welcomed them imperiously. "To what to I owe the obtrusion?"

"You owe me, as well as my increasingly threatening competence in your people's technology, a signed autograph on your death certificate." Matt rebutted mildly with a calm smile aimed at the alien. "Ah, my apologies gentlemen! Forgive me for making light of your accomplishment in getting here so discreetly - and under such allegedly high standard security programming, I'm afraid I can be such a zoilist at times!" Zinyak quipped in reply, a light and disingenuine laugh trailing into the end of his sentence.

Matt gracefully accepted the Zin equivalent of champagne that was being offered by a serving Zin and took a sip before retorting in a pompous tone "I believe the word you meant to use was 'Cockalorum'."

Zinyak continued to sip his drink, the three ignoring the scandalized gasps from the simulated patrons. "Such an unruly mouth your _boy_ has." Zinyak said to the Saint's leader with a deceptively charming expression.

"It's an ancient Earth custom to air out one's grievances towards a dead man before burying him." The Saint requited with an equally disarming smile.

"Please, gentlemen-!" The alien flourished an elegant bow "-do forgive my abrupt departure, as the the curtain does call, and I leave you to experience the delights of _my_ theatre's hospitality - as you have _so insisted_." Zinyak stated before exiting towards his stage once more.

They should have expected it to be mechanical murder sharks and steroid infested giraffes with chainsaws, but - in hindsight - _nobody really expects mechanical murder sharks and steroid infested giraffes with chainsaws as a result of an insulting exchange_.

As the theatre having been transformed into an arena of Caesarian-esque entertainment not being the strangest thing to have happened in the lifetime of the Saints, the boss found it easy to quickly understand the need to get through this bit of mayhem by responding in kind. Well, mentally he understood it. _Physically_ he ran in circles hoping the things charging him would miss.

Matt was inside the algorithms as soon as the boss had managed to sufficiently distract enough of the beasts. Unfortunately, instantly killing your opponents pets with a cheat code and causing him to have a toddler's fit about it was also dangerous. The entire arena became a mesh of reality for a moment before it shifted into a labyrinth of death traps and gory bravado. Matt found himself being locked out of Zinyak's system rapidly, so he did the only normal thing he could do in that situation: give the boss lots of guns and spawn in a muscle car. The boss hummed in approval as he picked up a rocket launcher, then he fired it at a wall and frowned. [IMMORTAL OBJECT] popped out of the wall from the center of impact. "Fuck aliens." He grunted as he threw down the now worthless wet dream.

"I've got it figured out." Matt said as he got himself into the car alongside the boss, having taken inventory of the rapidly crushing series of deathtraps before them. "If we time it right we can just barely scrape by most of the traps, and we should be able to launch ourselves onto Zinyak's ultracrepidarian platform if we drive onto the pressurized piston at the end of it."

"Matt, if you're trying to seduce me it's working." The boss remarked, grinning like a demon as he started the car. As soon as the virtual engine kicked on Matt and the boss felt the thunderous vibrations all around them. The boss' hand hovered just over the engaged emergency brake.

"Matt... how much horse power did you put in this thing?" The Saint's leader glanced over towards the cybergoth, whose smile was beginning to burgeon in light of his yet again exceptional talent for code entry. "Enough to get us to the other end of the map before Zinyak knows which testicle you've ripped out first." Matt replied, getting his wrist-mount ready again.

If the human world ends in a whisper, then the Zinyak Empire ends with the sound of a near-moan and the revving of an absolutely illegally modified engine. The 3rd Row Psycho kept the gas pedal pinned against the floor as he tore down the track that was opening in the labyrinth, via Matt's administrations. The car's own power causing a tiger-like purr to roll through every inch of the two Saint's bodies as they sped passed death trap after death trap. The metal siding screeched during a close run in with a bladed rotating piece of melodramatic Zinyak brand trappy bullshit, making the boss' own grin run riot.

Between the accelerations, vibrations and the sheer self-destructiveness needed to overcome the obstacles in play the boss was becoming single-minded. He started leaning forward from his seat in concentration, knees widening to let the rumbling horse power have some extra room to reverberate. Matt observed him between hacks, growing as pleased as the man next to him that it only took a few flicks of his wrists to take them quicker to the climax of their encounter.

He'd built this car from numbers and line entry in a hurry, but it was clearly beyond satisfying for his twisted Saint. And even under a heavy lockdown in a simulation he hadn't even designed he was still capable of bringing self-proclaimed better men to their knees. Matt licked his blue-tinted lips and typed in the next segment to shut down another trap, surrendering a little to the car's raging judder. 

The final piston almost came too soon, with both Saints nearly ramming straight into it head first through the windshield - instead of taking it in the undercarriage where it belonged - had Matt not had some doubts about the car's ability to catch it at the right angle and gave it a false start to throw off the timing by just a half second on every lift. The launch upwards was rough, but even harder was the landing. Still, both hellions were able to walk out of the vehicle - or at least, could stumble out and brace themselves against the now bashed up muscle car. Zinyak stood over them, thoroughly tired of humanity's foolhardiness. As he rounded on the cybergoth, Matt reached through the broken window and tossed the boss a semi-auto. Zinyak caught a light-based bullet to the face right as he'd gotten his grip on the younger Saint - causing him to jerk away from his intended prey and allowing Matt to grab a packet of grenades out of the car on his way over to the boss' side.

Simulated security members fell in odd numbers as the Saints worked their way through Zinyak's personally created paradise, coming up behind the tyrant as he ascended the classical dungeon - having hoped they would be stopped by the largest and smartest of his forces, specialists, hunters, creations and prisoners. He soon found himself at the top of his fortress standing in front of his weapons vault with limited time before his doors surrendered to the blasts they were barely muffling, all of his pridefully made creations and architecture now seeming so thin and fragile where they were once imposing symbols of his accomplishments and expressions of his most intricate thoughts. He had to make a choice, before the last of what was his fell to the Saints, on what type of victory or meaning they could be allowed to take from him as he fought his way to the access point deeper inside the vault.

So he chose... a ridiculous option that honestly shouldn't count as victory for them. But... then again _humanity was strange_ \- No matter, they're already through.

He picked up his chosen weapon, a sizably intimidating hand canon, and rotated the weapon racks to keep his vast collection private as long as they were distracted. The intruders in question, who were both wearing expressions of frat boys who'd just bragged to the campus virgin about their sizes and had taken the inexperienced shock as intimidation which held them proven - at least, it was comparably so to Zinyak...

Matt, having caught a glimpse of weapons being slotted away by automated systems, immediately sought to reveal them. The boss, who raised and aimed his mini-gun - who gave him a mini-gun?! - was panting like he'd been ready and waiting all day to explode Zinyak's private chambers. Zinyak refused to allow either of them any sense of satisfaction and immediately shot the canon at them.

An almost comical wet sound caught the Saints up with what had landed on them. The Saint's boss, who generally didn't give a fuck, continued with his plans to shoot at Zinyak - causing him to drop his weapon and run towards the exit and escape. "Fucking coward." The boss stated with a grunt, throwing down the mini-gun. Matt had stopped typing to... *ahem* calmly study the slimy pearlescent viscosity that had covered him.

The boss retrieved the discarded canon and brought it towards the gothic twink.

"At least we have this awful thing for our troubles." The boss remarked with disgust. "I bet C.I.D. or Shaundi will find plenty of use for it..." Matt replied curtly, drawing a genuine laugh from the head Saint. "Ooh, I'm not gonna tell her you said that - for your sake!" The boss started to collect himself. "Alright, we might as well get ahold of Kinzie and get out of here while we still can." Matt nodded "Already on it. Zinyak's already started the simulation's shut down."

"More like shamulation if you ask me." The boss started with an air of indifference, climbing out of the vice-like contraption that let them mess with Zinyak's programs on an hourly basis. The corner of Matt's lips twitched upwards in response to the potential amusement to follow. "Imagine not even being able to take your enemy's data and study it well enough to protect yourself from it where you're knowledge is most vulnerable." The Saint's leader finished, a disappointed sigh escaping him as he stretched.

"Imagine losing the best thoughts you've ever had made for you to a psychopath with guns and hacker who's only studied you for two weeks." Matt added, pleased with himself.

"I admit I was getting a little worried when Kinzie told me how long you two had been unreachable." Shaundi said as she approached them. Kinzie looked them over with relief and only slight disappointment and asked "Was there anything worth salvaging in there?"

Matt looked at the boss. The boss looked at Matt.

[Author's note: The boss uses finger guns here] "Yes!"

After a run through of the events, confirming that Kinzie did have a genuine reason to feel so disappointed, they made to return to their usual places. Except for the boss, who was following Matt back to the cargo bay. Johnny looked back at them as he passed them while heading to the bridge to catch up the recent mission and paused for a minute. "I guess that was a wash. If only Matt was up to par with all his bravado, then we might have something to show for it." Kinzie lamented over one of the bridge's interface panels to Shaundi. "Well, the boss certainly has confidence in him..." Shaundi replied from over an adjacent interface. "It's probably because those two can keep up with each other in the simulation. Boss actually trusts him, so they work well together." Johnny added in as he sat down.

[Author's note: this scene pans out nicely out of the door so we can muffle the conversation that has exceeded my current limit for dialog and catch up with what you came here for]

The great thing about knowing what your looking at when you're face to face with a display panel to an alien machine is that you'll probably figure out how to fabricate underwear, like Matt did as soon as he was shown the damn thing after he'd been rescued. It would be fantastic to know that it even could do that, but nobody told the leader of the Saints about it. Basically he got printed a zip up onesie and he thought he really just had to suck it - he would have asked questions after seeing Matt's unique version, but he just figured the guy was smart enough to make his unique.

So when the two gentlemen exited the simulation with hard-ons from the stimulating experiences they'd both had only Matt could hide it. Everyone else had gotten used to that occasionally happening to their leader because they assumed that either the connection stimulated every part of his brain to form a mental link - including the amygdala and hypothalamus, which basically made the horny happen - or that the virtual tiddies and asses were exciting.

It wasn't as if Matt hadn't noticed the boss' hard-on, he just knew enough to be discreet. And by _discreetly_ locking the doors via his wrist-mount and turning to the boss, looking directly at the dick casually pressing at the side of his boss' leg while asking him "Are you going to finish that or should I?" he subtly communicated to the Saint's leader that he was offering his tie for a handle and his blue lips for an accessory around whatever part of him he wished. In turn, Daddy Saint unostentatiously grabbed him by said tie, kissed the man roughly, and pulled him back to say "Thought you'd never ask."

By the time the Saint's leader had completely stripped down he was wearing a cyber blue ring of lipstick halfway down his shaft from Matt's work. "How long will it take to fabricate the lube gun?" The boss suddenly asked the goth at his feet. Matt stopped, brows scrunching with intense confusion. "A few hours, at least. Don't tell me you want to stop for me to-" "And how long will it take you to make just the lube?"

In a mere few seconds Matt had managed to type in the lube code while the boss was working his cock in short order [Author's note: it means quickly - like pouring chocolate syrup into a bottle of milk and shaking it to mix them up, for example], which sent updates to all the ships related computers about the new recipe for assistant fun juice it had just learned, and mere minutes of blue smears down a taut chest to create said lube.

If either of them cared that the machine had malfunctioned and couldn't stop making lube neither of them showed it. What did get shown was the boss' lubed dick to Matt's lubed hole. The head Saint left a trail of bite marks under the goth's jaw just the way he liked it, and Matt hooked his long legs around the boss' waist and pulled his hair the way he needed to (it did help that the boss found that extremely preferable to the circumstances - whenever they happened).

Soon the sound of obscenely wet slapping filled the cargo bay, which was unfortunate to the poor Gat (and the poor Kinzie who had to unlock the door) who originally went to ask them 'with a straight face' why the ship now knows how to make lube, and were left, unnoticed, to observe... that.

"Honestly, saw this coming a mile away." Johnny whispered with an unaffected smirk, which faded into a cringe when the boss literally came screaming "OH NYTE BLAYDE!"


End file.
